


Overindulgence

by bixbobeau



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Branding, Captivity, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nonconathon Treat, Xeno, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixbobeau/pseuds/bixbobeau
Summary: After the Battle of Cardassia and the Founder’s death, Weyoun is left in charge of the Dominion. Things begin to change.





	Overindulgence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/gifts).



> Hello Tish! I hope you enjoy this treat. :)

There was something humbling about standing next to a god as they died, and Weyoun had never felt his inferiority as keenly as when he felt the Founder tremble through her last words.

"The Dominion cannot be allowed to fall," she said, her voice as ragged as the torn and wrinkled texture of her skin. "No matter what becomes of us, we've worked too hard and fought too long to lose our hold in this quadrant. Order must be preserved."

"I understand," Weyoun said, and it was a peculiar thing, when the words came out choked. He was holding her hand in his, but it was not a comfort for either of them, not when it wasn't her true form and he was only her servant rather than another member of her great people. "I will not let you down. We will triumph over our enemies, you have my word. "

"I know we will." She closed her eyes, and Weyoun knew it was so she didn't have to watch what was left of her turn to dust in his hold. "You won't fail me. You've always been my most trusted Vorta."

The words filled him with a spark of something that must've been joy, and he smiled to himself when the Founder finally sighed into stillness and dust. He'd heard what she hadn't said, and he knew what it meant when a god died, knew what so many cultures believed. From a Founder to a Vorta, it was as good as a promise.

Any god that died could be reborn, and Weyoun was more than capable of managing the Dominion Alliance until the Founders returned.

***

The first thing Weyoun did after the Battle of Cardassia had ended in victory and the Founder passed was keep the Founder's promises to the Breen. The Dominion had no use for those tiny planets in Cardassian space, and it was a tactically sound plan to give them Earth now as well, even if the Dominion's defeat of the Federation was still underway. With the Jem'Hadar relatively low in numbers after that last disastrous battle, the Breen Alliance was all that kept the Dominion's fall at bay, and dedicating a portion of the Breen's forces to a siege of one of the Federation's central planets would keep the Federation and its allies occupied at the very least. The delay would give the Dominion time to recover and rebuild, and Weyoun took the first steps in doing so himself as soon as Thot Pran had left the room. Ten thousand Jem'Hadar soldiers and a thousand ships were all ready to be produced and active within the next few weeks, provided they could find the materials, and Weyoun had every confidence that they would.

The second thing he did was see to the prisoners that remained from the Cardassians' attempted taking of the Dominion's command headquarters. Only eight had survived the assault, all of them with various injuries and each locked away in sound Cardassian prison cells, and it was a simple matter to schedule their executions. There weren't enough Cardassians left in the capital city or on this half of the planet to care about anything as formal as a criminal trial, and so executing one a day at random was more for Weyoun's sense of pacing than anything else. The Founder had wanted them punished, and Weyoun could think of no better punishment than having them spend days waiting while their fellows were dragged away and executed, none of them knowing which day might be their last. The exception to the mystery was Damar, who Weyoun made sure would be the final criminal put to death; Damar, after all, had been fortunate enough to survive the last battle with nothing more serious than phaser burns, and now he would be fortunate enough to outlive all his loyal men while he saw the remains of Cardassia crumble around him.

All was going well until the day before Damar's execution, when Weyoun was forced to change his plans. The Cardassian rebellion that he'd thought squashed had risen up again, somehow fighting and gaining ground even without Damar as its active figurehead. It was extremely irritating, and with no other recourse, he cancelled Damar's execution; at this rate, the rebel forces might be readying for a _rescue_ and, amusing as the idea was, Weyoun didn't want to give them the chance to succeed. He ordered a strict curfew to be put in place immediately, and the food supplies that had been previously set aside as a gesture of good will were rationed and then rationed further. If the rebellion wouldn't stop on its own, the remaining Cardassians would be starved into compliance, at least until there were enough Jem'Hadar soldiers in place to deal with the outbursts more aggressively; as for the few Jem'Hadar that remained, Weyoun added additional guards on the prison and the food stores, and then he oversaw the installation of additional energy barriers himself. If it was a warzone they wanted, it was one they would get.

It was a busy week that passed, and Weyoun blamed his distracted mind for the fact that he found himself eating more than his usual portion during his meal times. It made no difference to him, since he felt neither full nor hungry most of the time, but eating four or five times his usual amount was very wasteful. He put the rations in place for himself as well, and he thought nothing else of it.

He couldn't explain the way he sometimes woke up at night with his stomach twisting, feeling like he hadn't eaten in days.

***

Four weeks after the Battle of Cardassia, the Cardassian rebellion was still alive, and Damar had been moved twice to prevent the discovery of his location. It was deeply frustrating, and each time they had to move Damar to another cell, Weyoun considered just ending it: executing Damar quietly and neatly, and then retreating to a place in Cardassia Prime's orbit, the better to wipe out the last of the rebel forces and the last of the Cardassians entirely from the safety of space. The only reason he didn't was that it would've felt too much like ceding the planet to a rebellion, and if there was one thing Weyoun knew, it was that the Founders never would've agreed with the decision to make an entire planet unlivable and unworkable to defeat a mere handful of fighters. The Founders had been prepared to fight until the last man--Vorta, Breen, Cardassian, or otherwise--and Weyoun couldn't do anything but honor their wishes, not when he was only the keeper of their great Alliance.

It still irritated him greatly, and when there was at last a lull in the fighting--the rebels had attacked the wrong building entirely and taken heavy loses, thanks to Weyoun's careful mispreading of information--he found the time to commission a special piece of metal work. The Jelna artist he'd found was terrified of the Dominion but did elegant work, and it took only a handful of days before Weyoun had what he wanted, a long bar of easily-heatable metal with the symbol of the Dominion outlined and raised on one end. It would do for its purpose, even if he only used it once.

Then, for the first time since the Founder's death, Weyoun went to see Damar. His cell was deep in the center of one of the administrative buildings that had managed to withstand the barrage of explosives during the last bombing of the capital city, and there were easily dozens of walls between Damar and an easy escape. Weyoun didn't think his location would remain undiscovered for long even in this maze, however, and so as he walked through the long hallways, he was already thinking of an alternate location. When he reached Damar's cell, he tucked his phaser inside his belt and hid the long piece of metal he carried behind his back before signalling the Jem'Hadar to open the cell door, and he expected any number of things when the door swung open.

Damar had bellowed like a wounded animal when the last of his pathetic army had fallen, but he was very quiet now. Weyoun didn't assume it had anything to do with compliance or an acceptance of his fate, and he was proven correct when Damar lunged for him the instant he stepped inside his cell. The resulting struggle with the Jem'Hadar was brief, and it ended with Damar bleeding from his mouth and breathing heavily as he was forced to kneel on the floor.

"Damar," Weyoun said, before he tsked in exaggerated disappointment. "What good would that have done? Our main cloning facility is already running again. My death would've only moved your execution forward, and it would've been overseen by the next Weyoun."

"I would've found it immensely satisfying nonetheless," Damar snarled, and he tried to push to his feet. The attempt was admirable, but doomed to failure just like so many of Damar's choices lately.

Weyoun made another disappointed sound, though he admitted there was something almost satisfying about watching Damar strain under the hold of his Jem'Hadar jailers.

"And here I came to offer you a kinder sentence," Weyoun said, "as befitting a former leader of the Dominion Alliance." Weyoun felt bold as he leaned forward, close enough that Damar could've struck him if he'd had just one arm free. "If you help me smother the rest of this pesky resistance you started, you can live out your life in prison instead. I won't even send you to a labor camp, though I understand that a Cardassian would do differently."

Damar glared at him, and the hatred in his eyes was almost enough to make Weyoun shiver. Instead, his stomach twisted in a familiar feeling that Weyoun had come to recognize, although he couldn't figure out what _hunger_ had to do with this.

"You won't get any help from me. Cardassia will be free from you one day, even if I'm not around to see it."

"I thought you might say that," Weyoun said, and he turned to the Jem'Hadar. "Hold him steady, please. And lift his shirt."

They obeyed without question, and Weyoun moved behind Damar. The long piece of metal he'd held behind him was set on the ground, and he heated the circular end of it with the beam of his phaser while he considered his options. Damar wasn't a tall man, but his back was broad and flat; there was more than enough room.

"Eventually you will learn," Weyoun said, "that _everything_ belongs to the Dominion. Though I wonder how much it will take to make your compatriots realize that too."

He didn't give Damar time to retort before he pressed the hot metal into the thickest part of his left shoulder. Cardassian pain tolerance was really quite impressive, and so Damar didn't do anything but hiss as the brand was burned into his skin, leaving a permanent mark of the Dominion ever on his back. He did renew his struggles when Weyoun pulled the branding iron away, but it seemed more reflexive than anything; he was shuddering with pain, and that made the attempt feeble and ineffective against even one Jem'Hadar soldier, never mind three.

"That will take some time to heal," Weyoun said, and he gestured for the Jem'Hadar to release their hold. Damar immediately fell forward onto his hands, but Weyoun knew the daze of pain wouldn't last. "We'll talk again after."

He'd barely made it out of the cell and closed the door behind him before Damar was on his feet and lunging for him again. Weyoun had expected nothing less, and he walked back to the command center with a smile on his face, glad that at least one thing hadn't changed.

***

It took months before the Federation collapsed, months and hundreds of thousands of Breen and Jem'Hadar soldiers. Weyoun was satisfied with the victory, although if Thot Pran's angry screeches were to be believed, the result didn't leave much of Earth left for its conquerors. Since Weyoun was still occupied with Cardassia's little problems and he also now had to contend with the renewed threat of the Klingon and Romulan Empires, he didn't pay any attention to the Breen's complaint. After all, they'd been the ones leading the attack; any damage to their spoils of war was purely their own doing.

Upon receiving the news of the Federation's defeat, the Cardassian rebellion lost its fighting will almost overnight. Weyoun understood the reaction, and he tried to be generous and forgiving as a good leader should be; when he found the rebels and their base, he executed only half of them before sending the others to prison for life. While he watched them be carted off in chains, Weyoun thought, with no small amount of longing, how much the Founder would've loved to see this. Bringing order to the Alpha quadrant had been her dream, after all, and now it was finally coming true, with all who resisted them coming to bend under their will. She would be most pleased when she returned, he was certain of it, and the thought of her approval filled him with warmth and an even stronger longing.

Weyoun didn't know how long it took for a god to be reborn, and it had been nearly six months already. He didn't know how much longer he could wait on this planet, surrounded by nothing but Jem'Hadar soldiers and Cardassians. Weyoun itched to know his place again, an itch that seemed to gnaw at him night and day.

It seemed inevitable that Weyoun resumed eating beyond his needs without thought once the rebels were finally caught and the ration was lifted. What did surprise him, however, was the addition of kanar to his diet; almost a month ago, the Jem'Hadar had been searching for the rebel base and had found a secret cellar buried underneath the city, a cellar containing more bottles of kanar than Weyoun had ever seen in one place. At the time, he'd simply been amused to see that the number of bottles outnumbered the Cardassians left in the capital city, but he'd found himself wandering down there more and more often over the past few weeks, and last time, he drunk four bottles of the stuff without realizing. It had no real effect on him, built as he was to be immune to toxins, but like the overeating, he couldn't seem to help himself. 

Neither thing helped, in the end, and Weyoun had come to suspect nothing ever would. What he needed was for the Founders to return, but instead what he had were empty comforts, solid things without meaning.

It was desperation that brought the thought to his head, desperation and the thought that he was behaving almost like a _Cardassian_ , but once the idea was there, he couldn't shake it. He went to see First Mota'lam, one of the Jem'Hadar soldiers he'd come to hate the least, and found him in the storage room containing their local supply of Ketracel-white.

“Your unit has been overseeing the prisoner Damar, has it not?" At Mota'lam's affirmative, Weyoun continued. "How is he?"

"His wound has healed," Mota'lam said, referring to the brand on his shoulder. "And he has been quiet." 

"Has he?" Weyoun wondered if he'd heard the news about the fallen Federation, or about the end of his beloved Cardassian rebels. It didn't matter either way. "I'd like to have a discussion with him. Please have him moved to my quarters." Weyoun thought of the state Damar had been in when he'd last seen him, and he felt repulsed when he considered how much time had passed. No, that wouldn't do for his purposes at all. "And make sure he's clean. And docile; the alducetam will do nicely, and I don't think a guard will be necessary if they give him the proper dosage." 

Mota'lam didn't respond immediately, and when Weyoun looked at him, his expression was difficult to read. That didn't matter either. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

The response was a half-second too slow in coming, but it came nonetheless.

"No. Your orders will be followed, Vorta."

"Good. See that it's done within the hour."

Weyoun nodded once and left Mota'lam with a sharp turn on his heel, and although it wouldn't help at all, he nevertheless found himself wandering back down to the cellar for another bottle of kanar.

***

Weyoun wasn't sure what to expect when he made it back to his quarters, but despite Mota'lam's clear reluctance, he'd still obeyed, and Weyoun entered his quarters to find Damar seated on the very edge of his bed, with his hands folded neatly across his lap and his back propped against the pillows. His hair had the sheen of being freshly washed and his clothes were clean, which meant Mota'lam had listened to at least that much; when Weyoun took a step closer, he also saw that Damar's eyes had a distinctly glazed look. That was the alducetam, a strong relaxant and mild sedative used mostly when questioning prisoners in situations where a Vorta might be at a disadvantage otherwise; Weyoun doubted it had ever been meant for _this_.

"Damar?" he said, and Damar's head turned to look at him more directly. The spark of recognition was there, the hatred too, but they were muted; he didn't try to stand, and when Weyoun's next careful step took him within reach, Damar didn't grab for him either. It was almost disappointing, but there was a reason he'd chosen Damar for this, and it wasn't because he wanted a fight; it was because he was hungry.

"I believe I'm coming to understand your people," Weyoun said. "Or at least in part."

Weyoun didn't expect a response, but Damar was apparently aware enough for that much.

"Are you?"

"Yes. The Cardassian tendency towards overindulgence in food, and drink, and--and sex, it's all just a manner of coping with your life. A life without the Founders." Weyoun thought about the food that didn't satisfy and the drink that didn't quench his thirst; would it be a different kind of emptiness, he wondered, if his genetic makeup had allowed him to be hungry, or to crave alcohol? "It's so desperately empty, I don't know how anyone can bear it."

"Sounds like you're just another defective clone." Damar rolled his head back against the headboard, which meant he didn't see the way Weyoun froze at the words. The drugged fool probably wouldn't even realize how hard the words had struck him, not when he was in this state. "I thought I was supposed to be executed. But I'm still here."

"Yes," Weyoun said, and he moved closer. "For the time being."

Moving Damar was a bit like trying to move a boulder; even with the muscle mass he'd lost due to months of imprisonment, he was still solidly built for his size. In fact, he hadn't lost nearly as much muscle as Weyoun would've expected from the confinement and the shortage of food; he imagined there were still thoughts of rebellion rolling around in Damar's skull, enough that he made an effort to be battle-ready. Weyoun could've laughed at the way that had turned out, but instead he just shoved Damar harder, until finally he rolled more towards the center of the bed. It would have to do.

When Weyoun reached for the fastening on his pants, Damar stirred out of his drugged haze enough to wonder why.

"What are you doing?" Damar asked, as he batted ineffectively at Weyoun's hands. 

"Overindulging," Weyoun said simply, and he finally undid Damar's pants enough to pull them down over his hips. After a second's thought, Weyoun pulled them down further until they bunched at his ankles, out of the way but still effectively trapping his legs. He wouldn't put it past Damar to try and kick him while he was this close, especially if the alducetam started to wear off.

Once that task was complete, Weyoun looked, and when Damar moved his hands to cover himself, Weyoun simply pushed them aside. He wasn't familiar enough with Cardassian anatomy to make a judgement, and the appearance of Damar's genitals was just as alien to him as the Klingon's and Trill's had been, although in a different way. He reached out to touch nevertheless; the edges of Damar's slit were hard, a deceptive barrier that protected the soft flesh beyond, and Weyoun stroked them gently as he wondered if the ugly things could be removed. It would be fitting, he thought, to have Damar exposed and open to the world as a punishment for the way his sneaking around had inconvenienced the Dominion so. He'd have to consider the matter further, provided this experiment went well; if the way Weyoun's body was reacting--his own fertilizer stirring in his pants, each tendril growing damp in readiness--he suspected it was going to go very well indeed.

Despite Weyoun's own encouraging reaction and his efforts, it took surprisingly long minutes before Damar responded to his stroking enough for the fringes underneath Weyoun's fingers to gape open even slightly. He could see the tip of Damar's cock just beginning to poke through, and Weyoun impatiently pushed his finger inside to touch that instead. The response to that touch was better, a gasp and a quick jerk of Damar's hips, and massaging that more sensitive flesh directly meant that Damar's slit was wide open and flushed purple-grey in less than a minute, and his cock had expanded enough to emerge from its cavern entirely. Cardassians were a primitive species, apparently, and Weyoun wondered if they all responded so well to a little stimulation, a gentle touch; he decided he liked the thought that it was just Damar, and he decided to explore that thought later, once they were finished.

For now, he unfastened his own pants and climbed onto the bed. After a moment's thought, he pushed Damar's legs apart to settle between them, and he ignored the way Damar pushed weakly at his shoulder. Once he was in a comfortable enough position, Weyoun rubbed the mass of his tendrils against Damar's cock and slit, and for a moment that's all it was: vaguely pleasurable rubbing. The next moment, however, his fertilizer's seeking tendrils found what they were looking for, and two of them pushed inside the small hole at the base of Damar's cock while another two pushed inside the hole at his backside. Weyoun didn't know if either hole was used when Cardassians normally had sex (judging by Damar's gasp at the intrusion, he suspected the answer was neither) but it didn't matter when they felt tight and warm around him. It was pleasurable and interesting, and suddenly he wanted Damar to feel that too.

"It might take a few minutes," Weyoun said, almost apologetically. His remaining four tendrils were trying in vain to make themselves fit inside the spaces the others had found, but Damar wasn't relaxed enough to take them yet. "I don't know how Cardassians respond to Vorta emissions." Most species seemed to like them, judging from the reports he'd read, but Weyoun had never tried this particular negotiating tactic himself. He wondered now why he'd avoided it, and the answer came immediately; there'd never been any reason to attempt it, when he'd been at the Founder's side.

He felt an ache in his chest, large and insatiable, and Weyoun was ready to consider this entire experience a failure (sex didn't help, not even a little) when Damar moaned low in his throat and the clench of his body eased just enough. There was a sense of perfect completeness when all eight tendrils managed to squirm their way inside of him, and the synchronized undulations that followed once they were all in place sent short bursts of heat up Weyoun's spine.

A distractions went, it was good enough.

"Oh, Damar," Weyoun said. He felt almost pathetically grateful, and he dropped a gentle hand to Damar's hip, right next to his straining cock. The sight was somewhat pleasing, now that he'd gotten used to it. "I don't think you're going to be executed after all."

Damar didn't say thank you for that rather generous change, but Weyoun thought he could be forgiven when the reason for his silence was that he seemed lost to the sensations. He was breathing hard enough that his chest heaved, and his eyes looked wild and unfocused; Weyoun could only imagine what he'd be doing if he'd had better control over his limbs, and he resolved to find out some other day. For now, he contented himself with watching Damar as he slowly moved inside him, the tendrils stretching him and making him slippery inside while his cock ached for Weyoun's touch; just as soon as Weyoun had decided to give him relief, the matter left his hands entirely, and Damar came with a shout all over his shirt, his cock still untouched.

Weyoun couldn't contain his sigh of happiness, and the tendrils responded by moving more aggressively than before, plunging in and out of Damar's body now that it had gone limp from pleasure. They began to swell as they prepared to deposit their seed, and it took long minutes before Damar was aware enough to react to the increased size. Even then, it was only with a single quiet, pained sound; Weyoun really _was_ impressed with his pain tolerance, and he said as much in soft words against Damar's throat when his tendrils began to pump their milky fluid inside of him. Not even the swelling of the tendrils could keep it from leaking out, and by the time his fertilizer had retreated back to his body, each tendril moving with sluggish satisfaction as they did so, there was quite a mess left behind. 

Weyoun found he didn’t mind at all, and though the rest of his body moved just as sluggishly, he still managed to reach out a hand and pull Damar’s collar down. Barely, he could see the mark of the Dominion that he’d left behind weeks ago; now, as it had then, it filled him with satisfaction, and he held onto that feeling, paired it with the way his body felt relaxed and at ease. He was content.

Until the Founders returned, it would have to do.


End file.
